Mein Friend
by The Hero15
Summary: It's World War II and Paris is under attack. During the attack, France is captured and the Bad Touch Trio is reunited in the worst way possible. What will Prussia do, and will this group of friends ever be the same again?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I know, I know, I shouldn't be starting another story, but this is just a short one, maybe only three chapters and I had writers' block and this was the only way to break through it. So, another Bad Touch Trio-centric story, I just couldn't handle it, I love those three! This is a bit more sad and serious, so I do hope you like it as much as my more humorous stories. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, if I did, I would own the Bad Touch Trio and I don't, so instead I am forced to write fanfiction and read Yaoi doujinshi**

**Song of the Chapter: Who Says by Selena Gomez (yeah it's an old song, but this is what I listen to so don't judge)**

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Chapter 1

"Angleterre! It's no use, get away now!" France yelled out.

The stubborn Brit still got up, "No way France! We can do this, I'll protect you, as long as I can stand we still have a chance! A weakling such as yourself would never understand!" he yelled, aiming his gun, his hands wobbled but he managed to fire some more shots, taking out more soldiers with every bullet.

France tried to get up as well, to join his British friend, but he couldn't, he was in too much pain. Paris, his capital was burning, and he was burning along with it.

A searing pain throbbed all over his body, every citizen that perished, every soldier that died sent another wave of pain up his spine.

As another one of his historic buildings exploded, he let out a cry of absolute pain, he staggered to the ground, clutching his chest, his heart felt as if it were being wrenched out with a knife. As if he was slowly being killed.

As a whole school nearby crumbled he gasped for air, dust flew into his throat, his rough esophagus being clogged even more. Another bomb destroyed a whole hospital and France let out a huge scream.

England continued to fight on, even though hearing the agonized cries of his ally made him wince and want to run over, he knew that if he wanted to save France, then he had to defeat as many soldiers as he could.

"Bastards! I'll show you what happens when you mess with a former pirate!" he yelled, shooting out another half a dozen bullets before he reached to reload. But his pocket was bare, he had no more ammo.

"Bloody hell," he growled and instead gripped the gun like a club.

Soldiers ran at him, yelling battle cries in German, but even though blood stained his clothes and he was covered in injuries, England was still a nation, and nations didn't lose so easily.

"Don't you dare, hurt my ally!" he yelled, bringing down the gun and knocking out one soldier after the other.

Then the soldiers started to notice the blonde haired man sitting in the middle of the battlefield, letting out cries of pain and curling up into a foetal position. The blonde haired man with luscious hair tied back with a pink ribbon, a uniform covered in blood, filled with bullet holes, but still, the man inside it was alive. The man inside it must've been the nation they were looking for.

"That's him! That's the man we're supposed to capture! Grab him and our mission will be complete!" one tall soldier ordered in German, he pointed at France's weak form on the ground.

England might not have understood their language, but he knew what they meant.

"NO! Get away you bastards!" he yelled, jumping protectively in front of France.

He slammed the butt of his gun into someone's head and then whirled around to kick another one away.

"What about him sir?" one soldier gestured to England.

"Just leave him, he is not of this country, he is Britain, we will capture him another time." the tall soldier replied.

England's gun finally snapped. He threw it away from him and then sent out a punch at someone's face. He whirled around to face the soldiers when he felt a piercing pain in the back of his knee, he collapsed to the ground.

"No! Don't you dare touch him!" England yelled, he leaped with his uninjured leg, closer to France.

He wrapped his arms around him protectively, the usually flamboyant man writhing in pain in his arms.

"Angleterre, I didn't know you cared!" he chuckled weakly.

"Shut up bloody frog! I-I d-don't c-care!" (A/N: What a lie Iggy!)

France was about to reply when the soldiers surrounded them, hands grabbing at their uniforms and hair.

England's grip around his friend tightened and he gasped as a knife was plunged into his side. "Get away, I'm not leaving him!" he screamed as they pried the two nations apart.

"Angleterre! Just run! I'll be alright," France said, he nodded at England sadly.

"No! Damn frog! NO!" England was thrown onto the ground a few metres away. He tried to get up but a boot slammed into his back and he cried out in pain.

He watched in despair as a rough sack was thrown over France's head and his hands restrained by thick rope.

The tall soldier threw the nation over his shoulder, England couldn't see his friend fighting, or moving at all.

"Bastards! Bastards I'll kill you all! Let him go!" England screamed, the soldier pressed the heel of his boot right into England's spine and he let out a scream of agony before his world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey, I'm back, I know I should be updating my other stories but this fic was the only one that I actually felt like writing for so...sorry. I do hope you like it, if you are reading I mean! This was quite a hard chapter for me to write, I'm not sure if I can write sad stories, but judging from your responses to some of my other stories, I CAN make you cry so HOORAY!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia OR the Bad Touch Trio (sadly...)**

**Song of the Chapter: Circle Foods by Gunnarolla (If any of you watch AmazingPhil then you might already know about it ;) )**

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Chapter 2

Pain, that was all England felt. A searing pain that burned him inside to out.

"What the..?" England's eyelids fluttered open and he looked around the hospital room he was in.

Around him, three figures watched intently. "Iggy!" England heard the voice before he felt the owner, strong arms wrapped around him and he gasped as his already broken bones were crushed under America's hug.

"Aiyah! Get off him aru!" England heard China yell and suddenly America's heavy weight was pulled off of him.

"Comrade, you are okay, da?" Russia smiled at him, England nodded quickly, careful not to provoke any type of angry response from the tall man.

"France..." the first word that came out of England's mouth. "Where's France?"

America and China stopped bickering with each other and sat back down in their previous seats.

"Dude...France is gone. When we arrived he wasn't there, we looked all around Paris but we couldn't find him. I'm sorry, he had been captured by Germany," America explained, he looked down at his feet, deciding his boots were actually really interesting.

"America and I tried to track down the soldiers who took him but by then it was too late aru," China added softly, "We're sorry aru," his voice cracked at the end.

England's eyes widened but he refused to cry, no, even though the frog was a weakling, he would survive. He had to survive, he was France after all.

"It's alright China," England muttered, the Asian had gotten more emotional lately, England guessed it had something to do with Japan.

China sniffed and wiped his tears away. Russia wrapped an arm around his shoulders, much to the Asian man's chagrin. But England found himself chuckling at the fact that China wasn't fighting that hard.

But then another thought crossed him.

"China, aren't you meant to be in you country? Helping out with the war?" England asked the Asian.

China stiffened slightly England could see Russia's arms tighten into the hug.

"Yes, but we are a team and a teams stick together aru,"

One hour later, the other nations left England alone in his hospital room.

"France, I hope you're okay," he muttered.

Suddenly there was a knock on his door, "England? Is that you?"

England recognized the voice. "Yes, you can come in...Spain,"

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France could barely keep himself awake, how in the world could he walk a dozen miles all the way to Germany's secret base?

France felt tired and dizzy, every few seconds a wave of pain went up his body, causing him to stumble, grunt or fall. Every time he fell, a soldier growled at him and kicked his ribs harshly with a hard leather boot.

From under the hood, the soldiers didn't notice him stick his tongue out at them. He laughed silently to himself, he was a nation after all, he should have had his own guilty pleasures.

The hood on his head was stuffy and smelly, France couldn't even see through the rough fabric much less breathe!

France strained to hear what the soldiers were saying. "Are you sure that this is the right guy?" A gruff voice grumbled, "He's so weak for a nation!"

France cringed, weak was he? He couldn't stop the feral growl that came out of his mouth, it was common instinct to react badly when you and you're country had just been insulted.

But the soldiers took it badly, "Who do you think you are bastard?"

France yelled out in pain as the heel of a boot was slammed into his spine and he fell forward. With his hands behind his back, he could do nothing but let his face collide with rock hard earth. France heard a sickening crack and a pain that covered his whole face, a line of moisture now dripped down his chin, blood; his nose was broken.

France curled into a foetal position whilst the soldiers continued to kick and screech at him in German and English.

France squeezed his eyes shut, "Someone, please help me." he whimpered, but knowing in his heart that his call wouldn't be heard.

He remembered England's face, he had been so passionate, so determined to save Paris. France wished that maybe he could've done better. The last moments they had together were still in his head.

_"NO! Don't touch him!" England's voice had been hoarse and rough._

_France couldn't move, he felt as if someone was reaching into his chest and pulling out his heart. He felt fire burning his country._

Fire, it was something France hated with a (ironically) burning passion. It was beautiful yet deadly, a weapon so powerful that it could flatten forests, a weapon so deadly it could burn through flesh and bones.

France's memory was broken as a loud voice called out, "Stop!" France's head perked up, he knew that voice.

"Stop, state your position and reason for coming here to the awesome me! Kesesese!"

France was almost surprised that his friend wasn't speaking in German.

But the soldiers the soldiers answered in German, France couldn't understand what they were saying but he could understand what the silence as for.

What would he say? What would Prussia say when he saw him? Would he call France weak like his younger brother? France froze when he felt the hood being taken of his head, he blinked as a new light filled his eyes.

His gaze met Prussia's own and they both shared a long look. Prussia gasped at France's state, "Franny? What-"

"Ah, there you are France, I see you are weak as always." the two old friends turned to find Germany and his boss Hitler smiling down on them.

The abomination himself spoke, "Germany, what should we do with a weakling such as this?"

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**A/N: Here you go, a sort of cliffie, I'll be back with the next chapter!**


End file.
